But the hand that planted it
by mellarkymia
Summary: Katniss and Peeta find new life amongst the ruins in District 12, and start a new tradition to celebrate death and rebirth. Canon. Pre-epilogue. Rated M. Written for Prompts in Panem Round 6, Day 4: Green


She's seen him fight to the death twice. Watched him die, and come back to life. Witnessed how he clawed his way back to himself, finding meaning in memories and love and life she'd been sure he'd forgotten forever.

But Katniss has never seen Peeta work this hard.

He's up before dawn every morning, the cool morning air still pressing frost against the window, as he quietly dresses and drops a kiss on her temple.

Then he's gone.

Back again, after sunset, a grateful smile passing his lips as he collapses at their dining room table. She can't help the stir of comfort that comes when he hungrily devours whatever she's caught and prepared for the day.

She wonders if he notices how often it's squirrel - his father's favorite. No, she doesn't wonder. She knows he does. But that speaking of it will only bring the sadness they've worked so hard to keep at bay.

Within weeks, she sees the change in him. Dark circles forming puffy lines under his bloodshot eyes; the dark blonde stubble he used to so meticulously shave each morning growing on his face for days; the hunch in his shoulders when he stands at their sink, mechanically brushing his teeth and rinsing his face before bed.

She misses him. It feels like an ache as she busies herself each day, reminds her of the persistent hunger from what felt like another lifetime - a dull, insistent pain that won't quit. Won't completely let her forget what's absent.

Because for so long, they lived in something that felt almost like a cocoon. They found shelter in one another. Built the strength to remember. Crafted the book that would be the lost ones' legacy. Curled together, on the couch or the porch or their bed, letting love grow between them again.

It was just them. And after endless days of the daunting needs that others placed on their relationship, their hard-fought quiet intimacy felt like overwhelming relief. Like the first breath of fresh air after walking through a dense and smokey fire.

But she knows he needs this. And not just him. All the other survivors. The ones who came back after losing everything. The ones who found their way here, wandering lost, looking for a new start.

So every morning, after he leaves, she climbs out of bed. Braids her hair. Slips on her father's hunting jacket.

And she walks the woods alone, bow in hand, the unsteady terrain under her feet her only remaining old friend there. She hears the sounds of the birds and the rustle of animal feet and the soft, cool breeze around her. She shivers at it all because it feels as old as time itself.

She will never understand how it manages to be so green. After all the death, and the leveling destruction, how did anything manage to come back to life?

Katniss tries not to think about the ones who didn't. The ones who stayed dead.

She trains her focus on the living. On the thriving dense trees, thick with branches and deep green leaves. On the feeling of cool spring water slipping through her fingers, splashing against her face. On the agile deer that bound by, as though nothing out of the ordinary ever happened here.

Katniss thinks sometimes maybe she's the luckier one. Peeta spends his days amongst rubble and ruins, hot steel and haunted eyes, constantly reminded of all they lost. But she gets to escape here, gets to live amongst the oblivious.

The good seasons pass - spring and summer - and before long, during a dinnertime visit, Haymitch mutters something about the talk in town. The Harvest Festival. Another relic of the old life. Something no one can decide on. Do they let it live on? One of the only celebrations of abundance in their dismal past? Or do they let it die, just another casualty of the war?

Of course, it's Peeta, who sees scope and circumstance that are invisible to so many others, that comes up with a solution.

He brings it up over dinner one night as he sips the stew Sae brought over. Says it casually, like he's telling her about a conversation he had with Thom.

"I was thinking maybe, instead of Harvest Festival, we do something different now. A new tradition. One that means something."

Katniss gazes carefully at him across the table. "Like what?"

The glow from the nearby hearth illuminates his face, erasing the new lines and deep circles under his eyes. Making him look as young and as beautiful as he really is. "I don't exactly know. I just know it seems wrong to honor something that never meant much to us anyway. The Harvest Festival was never ours. It was the Capitol's, you know? We should celebrate something that matters."

Katniss makes love to him by the fire twice that night. She moves over him, frantic the first time and agonizingly slow the second. She finds the rhythms that make him sigh. His hands roam over her body, at once desperate and controlled. It's the look in his eye - the heated, endless desire - as much as the movement of his body underneath her brings her to the edge. He swallows the sounds of her pleasure with kisses that make her want to do it again.

It's still so new to both of them, this kind of love, that she blushes after she orgasms, burying her face in the crook of his arm. And when they're finally done, tangled together in sweat and satiation, they start to talk about what it could mean to start something new.

And that's how Samhain begins.

It's not a week, just a day. Named after some old festival Haymitch read about in an old book from the world even older than the one they left behind.

It means "the day of the dead."

It's a celebration. A feast. A remembrance. A day to honor what they lost and what they still have.

So, it's fitting that the first time the small district population gathers in the town square, it's not finished. There are still piles of rubble from the broken buildings. The new cemetery - the one that won't be visible once everything is rebuilt - stretches out behind the dozens of people that mill about. They admire the decorations - piles of gourds; beaded wreaths on doors, bright orange and red and yellow leaves wrapped around green fir branches.

Musicians stand and play - old songs, the dancing songs, the old ones. Greasy Sae sits near a bale of hay, handing out whiskey soaked cider to anyone who passes by.

Everyone does - so everyone is in good spirits as they make their way to the same place.

The one that's seen more of Peeta than she has these last few months.

The one that was his home before the Games.

Because it isn't just the day of the dead. It's the first day the bakery is back in business.

Peeta thought it fitting - a symbolic gesture, one that brings past and future together.

He asked her to stay away as he worked tirelessly to recreate the building that once meant his livelihood. Told her he didn't want her to bear the burden of seeing it as it was - a tomb. Said he wanted her only memories going forward for it to be a place of happiness of life.

So that's why she's barely seen him since the first hint of spring this year. And that's why she's seeing it for the first time today - with fresh eyes and a nervous tremor in her hands. She knows how much this means to him; how much having fresh bread each day will mean to everyone in the district now.

From the outside, it looks exactly the same as before. A grey stone building with large glass windows flanking a heavy wooden door.

But when he lead her through the entrance early this morning - before sunrise, before anyone else was awake - she'd lost her breath at the sight of the new interior.

This wasn't the bakery where his mother had scolded him; where he'd roughhoused with his brothers; where his father had toiled under dim light, between plain walls, to make the most of the paltry grains from the Capitol.

The interior is bright and welcoming, with bright white tables and chairs lined against mint green walls. A glass counter displays baskets of fresh loaves of bread, muffins and pastries, and dozens of hand-frosted cookies made to look like fall leaves.

But despite the newness of it all - how bright and full of life the space feels - Peeta has managed to pay tribute to their most painful losses.

There are five small orange gourds, hollowed out, placed atop the glass counter. On each, he's carved a portrait - his father, his mother, his brothers. And Prim. And inside each, he's placed a candle, creating a beautiful glow. Not wild or unsteady like fire. More like a gentle light.

"I hope it's okay," he tells her, weaving his fingers with hers as they stand before his memorial.

She kisses him - lingering, long - before wiping the tears out from under her eyes.

And then she sees it - the ancient cash register, positioned near the end of the counter. The one that belonged to his father. The one that will stay, even after the pumpkins are gone.

They won't keep much of the money they make here - don't need it, don't want it. Peeta and Katniss agreed before he even started rebuilding to funnel most of the profits back into the district, to help with the rest of the recovery.

But the wealth it will bring him - in purpose, in identity - is immeasurable. And she knows the hope, the life, it will bring the others, is priceless.

So as they wait for the rest of the district to filter in - to see it, and celebrate it, and remember the family that used to run it - she stands behind her husband and wraps her arms around him. Presses a kiss between his aching shoulder blades. Feels so grateful for the steady beat of his heart under her hands - for the life they've built for the both of them.

And she lets herself remember what they've lost.


End file.
